THE HERMIT, 

OR AN ACCOUNT OF 

Francis Maw Joseph Phyle^ 

A NATIVE OF SWITZERLAND, 

Who lived without the use oi fire for upwards 
of twentv-two years, in a smalt cave, in the 
midst of a wood, near Mount-Holly, in Bur- 
lington county, New-Jersey ; and was found 
dead therein, in the year 1780. 

IN A SERIES OF LETTERS, 

FROM 

3{ALTUS HILTZHIMER TO MELGHOIR MILLKB. 

I'iterspersed witii son»e 

Observations of the jiuthoTi and Sentt' 

ments of ceU brated men* 



SECOND EDITION. 



NEW JERSEY. 
PUBUSHED BY JOHN ATKINSOK. 

?rliited by John Bioren, No. 88, CbcsnatfSS'^cr. 
Phiiadeiphia, 

1811. 



DIST&ICT OF NEW JERSEY, to wit t 

^t it ttmembt%tb» That on the twenty.first 
day of December, in the thirty-fifth year of 
the Independence of the United States of Ame- 
rica, John Atkinson of the said district hath 
deposited m this office the title of a book, the right 
whereof he claims as author in the words follow- 
ing, to wu : " The Hermit, or an account of Fran. 
CIS Adam Joseph Phyle, a native of Switzerland, 
who lived without the use of fire for upwards of 
twenty.two years, in a small cave, in the midst of 
a wood, near Mount-HoJly in Burlington County, 
New-Jersey, and was found dead therein in the 
year 1780 ; in a series of letters from Baltus Hiltz- 
himer to Melchior Miller, interspersed with some 
observations of the author, and sentiments of ce- 
lebrated men." 

In conformity to the act of the Congress of the 
United States entitled « An act for the encourage- 
ment of learning by securing the copies of maps, 
charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors 
of such copies during the times therein mention- 
ed;" and also to the act intitled "An act supple- 
mentary to an act entitled an act for the encour- 
agement of learning by securing the copies of 
maps, charts and books to the authors and propri- 
etors of such copies during the times therein 
mentioned, and by extending the benefits thereof 
to the arts of designing, engraving and etching 
historical aud other prints. 

ROBERT BOGGS, Clerk 
of the District of New-Jersey. 

>0T 



/**•****% I CERTIFY the above to fee a 

» ccAT i true copy of the original record. In 

* * testimony whereof I have hereunto 

*«*«*«*«#»* affixed the seal of the said district. 

ROBERT BOGGS, Clttk. 



LETTER I. 



Dear Friend^ 



BUHMNGTON COCNTT^ 

June, irso. 



YOU " request an account of 
the Mount-Holly Hermit — where he 
came from — the time of his arri- 
val—a description of his hermitage — • 
the manner of his procuring suste- 
nance — his cha7'acter, conduct, death, 
and buriaL''^ 

Living ill the neighbourhood of 
Mount-Holly, and havmg frequently 
seen the soHtaire who is the subiecc 



of your inquiries, as well in his soli- 
tude as in his mendicant peregrina- 
tions, I will cheerfully give you such 
iniormation respecting him as I ixuh 
at present in possession of, on condi- 
tion only that you will call into exer- 
cise all your candour and good nature 
in excuse of the very many faults you 
will, at the first glance, discover in 
my communications ; indeed, I am, 
so well aware of my deficiency in the 
composition, that had I not the ut- 
most reliance on your friendly par-> 
tiahty, the gratitude I feel for all your 
past favours, I fear^ would be scarcely 
powerful enough to compel a com- 
pliance with your request. Thus as» 
sured, I shall make it my business to 
collect, from suurcf. s which may be 
implicitly relied o.i, si'ch anecdotes 
concerning him as may be worth 



your notice, and from time to lime 
communicate them, well assured that 
ill thus gratifying a curiosity pro- 
ceeding from the most laudable mo- 
tives, I am at the same time record- 
ing the fate of a member of the hu- 
man family, who, however uncom- 
monly led to retire from the busy 
scenes of life, to despise the riches, 
honours, and conveniences for which 
millions of his fellow men are daily 
risquing immortal happiness to ob- 
tain, appeared to possess a mind cast 
in no common mould ; a hardihood 
of character which would have added 
honour to many of the heroes of an- 
tiquity, and a suavit}^ of manners 
which no gentleman of modern times 
would blush to own. 

In the spring of 1756, the people 
in Mount-Holly and parts adjacent. 



found their curiosity much awakened 
by reports, that a stranger had taken 
up his abode in a wood belonging to 
Joseph Burr, on the Buriington road ; 
that he appeared to be a middle aged 
man, was a foreigner, was totally ig. 
norant of the English language, and 
was dressed in the uniform of a 
French soldier; that he had frequent- 
3y been seen at the neighbouring 
farm-houses, begging victuals. The 
people, suspecting from his frequent 
visits that he lived somewhere near 
them, had followed him, and found 
that he had dug out the ground un- 
der the side of a large tree, which had 
been blown up by the roots, until 
there was room enough for him to 
creep into it. 

This incident gave rise to a good 
^eal of speculation, but as an account 



thereof would be no more likcl}- 1© 
amuse than to profit you, I will not 
trouble you with it, but proceed to 
relate that the stranger had been seen 
first on the farm of Lot Ridgway, 
about a month before, whose servants 
going to a distant part of the farm to 
break some stacks of hay, descried a 
hovel composed of rails taken from 
an adjoining fence and reared against 
one of the stacks, over which there 
was ha}^ thrown. Upon advancing 
to it they found our hermit, whose 
figure appearing extraordinary, ex- 
cited a surprise which was equalled 
on his part by chagrin, for it was 
plain enough to be seen by the wag° 
gons having the usual apparatus for 
removing hay, that his encampment 
was to be broken up, and that he 
mi]st remove, which 5 after interehart- 



10 



giiig some marks of civility with 
them, he undertook ; but, as he knew 
not where to go, being a stranger to 
the country and its language, every 
reflecting mind will suppose his situ- 
ation was very trying; and he has 
since said, that in his peregrinations 
up and down in a country to whose 
language he was a stranger, and in 
which all his supplies were obtained 
through signs, his adverse allotment 
required a greater share of philoso- 
phy than he could at all times call to 
his aid. 

It being but six miles to where he 
took up his permanent abode, he 
reached it the same day, and as he 
stopped several times and made signs 
for victuq^ls it was then noticed, as 
indeed, it has sufliciently appeared 
since, that he possessed great good 



11 



breeding, and would upon receiving 
any thing, make a low bow, and 
always kiss his crucifix, at the 
same time lifting up his hands and 
eyes in apparent supplication, as if 
calling down benedictions on the 
heads of those who vrere administer- 
ing to his necessities. This appear- 
ance of gratitude and devotion would 
cause the people to forget their pre- 
judices (long entertained against 
some tenets of the church he be- 
longed to) and strong emotions of pi- 
ty were excited for the distressed- 
stranger ; and I rejoice that I can re- 
cord to the honour of the people in 
his neighbourhood, that (with a fe^v 
exceptions which shall be noticed in 
proper time) they have ever treated 
our hermit with kindness and hu- 
manity; I the more willingly do this 



12 



it being not only a just encomium 
on the virtue and hospitality of a peo- 
ple among whom our hermit has al- 
wa} s found a ready admittance, and 
from whose tables he neve' tailed to 
receive a plentiful supply, but that it 
will highly gratify my friend in 
whose composition there is so great 
a portion of the '* Milk of human 
kindness;" in finding that not only 
the necessities of this poor forlorn 
stranger were supplied, but many 
would gladly have alleviated that load 
of mental distress he seemed to la- 
bour under, if it had been in their 
power. 



Tours, ^c. 



LET^rER IL 



BUKLINGTOW COUNTV^ 

June, 1780. 

Dear Friend^ 

The wood in which he took up 
his abode, hadi its north side bound- 
ed by the road leading from Mount- 
Holly to the city of Burlington, dis- 
tant four miles from the latter, and a 
little more than two from the former, 
in which is yet to be seen the tree (a 
white oak of great dimensions) un- 
der the south side of which he form- 
ed his subterranean lodgment. The 



•14 



aperture by wliich he descended, was 
in an oblique direction for about 
three feet and a half, when it entered 
the body of his cave, t]ie form of 
which was an oval, but so much cir- 
cumscribed in its dimensions that 
he could scarcely stretch himself at 
length in it. This circumstance \\ as 
not known till after his death, when a 
partial descent was absolutely neces- 
sary to free the cave of that body 
w hich had occupied it so long, for he 
had spent twenty-three years there, 
during all which time he had no use 
of fire. 

This would seem so incredible, 
tliat I should be afraid to assert it^ 
were there not hundreds who can at- 
test the same. 

The aperture he sliielded from the 
rain, 8;c. by bark laid from the body 



of tiie tree, and which reached to a 
pole supported by forked sticks let 
into the ground. His spring was si- 
tuated about forty rods from his cave 
in a southerly direction. The con- 
veniency of which doubtless suggest- 
ed the idea of settling here. For al- 
though it is a sequestered place, be- 
ing impervious to view from the 
road, by a thick growth of under- 
wood, yet it is not so captivating a 
spot as some might choose. And 
those persons v/ho (from the fascina- 
ting de^c^ iption in romaiitic story of 
the neatiicss of a hermitage and the 
deliglitfiil situation, in which all that, 
is included in the best selected lan- 
guage to convey ideas the most be- 
wit chins; to imaa'ination, is called to 
their aid,) may expect gratification of 
a lik^ nature in mv account, they 



l& 



will be much disappointed. For I 
have no materials, if I was ever so ca- 
pable and ever so much inclined to 
embellish my account without having 
recourse to fiction, but in detailing 
the life of the Mount-Holly -Hermit, 
that does not come within my plan. 
I do not remember that the pub- 
lic knew any thing of his reasons for 
living in this retired way, until per- 
haps six weeks or two months after 
his arrival, Col. Charles Read spoke 
to him through an old German Lin- 
guist, and requested to know where 
he was from, and his motive in se- 
cluding himself from society. When 
he gave the following short account, 
" His name was Francis Adam 
Joseph Phyle, that he was a native 
of the Canton of Lucern in Switzer- 
land, which, on account of some 



17 



disagreeable circumstances taking 
place, he had left, and went to France, 
with whose troops, after some length 
of time intervening, he had come to 
Canada, but was, soon after his arri- 
val, from disgust to the life of a Sol- 
dier determined to leave them, and 
throw himself on the mercy of his 
enemies. That accordingly he ef- 
fected an escape, came on southward 
until he reached here, where he wish- 
ed to remain." 

Col. Read who was one of the 
Judges of the Supreme Court, after 
hearing his story \^'itliout pressing 
him to enter into the particulars there- 
of, told him he should have liberty 
to reside in the wood, and recom- 
mended him to the charity of the 
people, saying that he appeared to 
he labouring under great distress of 

B 2 



18 



mind, and wished he might not re- 
ceive any alxise in the coiuatry he 
had adopted. The Colonel ^.vas sus- 
ceptible of very tender impressions, 
and of course when he saw a person 
totally a stranger to the country and 
its language, whose behaviour be- 
spoke him to be a man of good 
breeding and who not only was des- 
titute bf every of the comforts of 
life, and strenuously persisted in re- 
fusing pecuniary aid when ever of- 
fered, and at the same time appear- 
ing under a great weight of mental 
distress, occasioned, (as he said) by 
his sins which appeared to over- 
v/helm hini with a deep sense of their 
turpitude, and v/ishing to expiate 
them in solitude, by foregoing ail the 
enjoyments of this life. All this was 
more than Col. Read c<3u]d behold 



19 



witliout dropping a sympathetic tear, 
giving place to a compassionate sigh 
and sincerely pitying the miserable 
stranger. His kindness tr Francis, 
(by which name I shall fo die future 
distinguish him,) may well be sup- 
posed to act as a cordial to his dis- 
tressed mind. For as he had been 
a soldier he did not know but that 
he should be forced into the British 
army, who we^-e then at war with its 
great rival power, whose mutual ani- 
mosities have kept the world in con- 
fusion for more than three hundred 
years. But his fears were happily 
relieved from all danger of again en- 
tering into scenes, than which death 
would have been more welcome. 

After this interview between the 
Colonel and Francis, the latter return- 
ed with ha'st\^ step to his retreat, from 



20 



which he had been absent on a Httle 
excursion after provisions, and might 
have experienced comparative hap- 
piness had not the corroding reflec- 
tions of his guilty breast thrown in 
an allay. For he has since acknow- 
ledged that his guilty fears follow- 
ed him to his solitude. It does 
not with certainty appear that he had 
any other than the common failings of 
humanity to bewail: Though in- 
deed it was believed upon something 
that once fell from him in conversa- 
tioti that he had killeda man in a duel. 
However that may be, it is enough 
for us to know tliat in his own opi- 
nion, his sins were of such a cast as 
to preclude him the privilege of par- 
taking any more of the comforts of 
this life. And it would be well if 
^\'e all knew that the common failings 



^f mankind are sufficient to produce 
in the ingenious mind the most poig- 
nant grief. And many there has 
been who have been in great distress 
in being favoured with a true sight of 
their condition, when their worldly 
neighbours have thought them very 
weak to indulge such whimsies, and 
have laughed at their sorrows. *' But 
they would do well to beware how 
they ridicule, or speak' lightly of such 
distressing perplexities ; far better 
would it be for them that they were 
in the same condition." 

Yours, yc. 



LETTER 111, 



BURLIN'GTON COtTNtt: 
July, 1780. 



Dear Friend, 



I told you that strong convic- 
tions pursued Francis to his solitude. 
He had before sought to silence 
them, by a voluptuous gratification 
of the sensual appetites, both in his 
own country and afterwards in France, 



among a people well calculated both 
by nature and habit to contribute 
their full quota of those blandish- 
ments which are best adapted to stu- 
pify the awakened mind. But he 
found that however sedulous his own 
endeavours joined with the seductive 
arts of that volatile people, to lessen 
the poignancy of his feelings, that his 
conscience would, as in the " Cool of 
the day," arrest his progress in the 
emphatic language of " Man, where 
art thou ;" when finding it to be im- 
possible to procure peace in such a 
way, he had at length the \\ isdom to 
flee from such a course, and endea- 
vour to obtain it by another medium ; 
which shews that he was favoured 
with a proper sense of his condition. 
And though we do entertain much 
charity for him, in his thinking to ey - 



24 



piate his crimes by great austerity 
and rigid mortification, ^ve may at 
the same time without a breach there- 
of, withhold our beUef of there being 
any merit attached to such vokintary 
acts, and assert the inefficacy thereof 
unless accompanied by a total change 
in the mind, will and aftections, 
which is emphatically called a new 
birth, and without which, a victor}^ 
over that leprosy of sin that is en- 
twined into every fibre of the soul, 
will not be experienced. 

I think no one from what I have 
written can mistake my meaning, 
and infer that I have uncharitable 
thoughts of those who have made 
choice of the ascetic life. To cut 
off all possible occasion for such con- 
clusion, I will freely declare, that if I 
had been ignorant of all those who 



have devoted their lives to retire- 
ment, except Thomas A. Kenipis, 
and Alban Butler, their writings 
alone, would abundantly convince me 
that a man could be truly great and 
good, and at the same time hold 
principles which we as protestants 
assent not unto ; but to return. 

It being now generally knovm that 
Francis had taken up his abode in 
the wood, he began to have visitors, 
and as he attained some knowledge 
of their language could discriminate 
between those whose visits proceed- 
ed from laudable motives, and those 
of vacant minds led there by idle cu- 
riosity. 

To the first, whose questions were 
.^Jways guided by humanitv, he 
would answer with politeness, and if 
indeed it could be said that he was 



26 



sometimes evasive, he could not be 
charged with a departure from that 
good breeding which was so distin- 
guished a trait in his character. 

But to those of the latter class, 
whose questions were, frequently im- 
proper and sometimes insolent, he 
would remain silent or speak in a 
language they did not understand.. 
And this he would do with great fa- 
cility : For if a German would pur- 
sue him from the German to the 
French, he would then speak in La- 
tin, Spanish or Italian, each of which 
I have been told, he could pronounce 
as well as his vernacular tongue. 

There wxre others, whose ques- 
tions, though not of the tenor of those 
last mentioned, yet were evidently 
not agreeable to him, as being con- 
cerning the war just commenced. 



'11 



ttie relative strength of the two na- 
tions, and of the probable way it 
would result. These things T\-ere 
discordant to the mind of a poor 
creature, who wished not only to 
have nothing to do with such scenes, 
but to forget if possible, what he had 
heretofore known of them. 

His subterranean abode, was lined 
with cast clothes which the charity of 
the people supplied : It w as as be- 
foresaid so contracted in size that he 
could not stretch himself at his 
length, consequently was obliged to 
lay in a curve-line, which must be 
acknowledged to have been a very 
disagreeable position during his long- 
abode there, and would have dra^\ n 
forth a greater share of our sympathy 
if he had been precluded the privi- 
lege of enlarging it. The clothes he 



28 

lined it with, was continually imbib- 
ing moisture, which rendered it ne- 
cessary frequently to take them from 
his lodge and spread them on the 
bushes that it might be exhaled by 
the rays of the sun. 

When they were worn out, or for 
the above reason had become unfit 
for use, he found no difficulty in re- 
placing them with others ; so that he 
was in greater danger of suifering 
from the heat of summer than the 
eold of the winter. 

But the unpleasantness of his situ- 
ation during the summer nights 
might have been remedied, if he had 
slept above ground, under the awn- 
ing which he had jutted from the 
wind-fall to shield as before men- 
tioned the mouth of his cave froai the 
wet and which extended to some 



29 



length along the body of thetreea 
This indeed might have been esteem- 
ed a luxury ; but for that very reason 
he determined not to avail himself of 
the advantage such a lodging present- 
ed, but clx)se to suffer in his lodge. 
Not indeed but that he spent a good 
portion of his nocturnal hours above 
ground, for his vigils were as rigid as 
is usual with others who devote their 
lives to retirement, but that he would 
not indulge himself in sleeping any 
where but in his lodgment under 
ground. Which is but one instance 
of a hundred that could be produced 
in proof of his willingly denying him- 
self all the comforts of this life, and 
confining himself to an austerity that 
to many may seem incredible, but is 
nevertheless true. And those per- 
sons w^ho were acquainted ^vith tli(? 



ofTers that were afterwards made hinj^ 
which will be noticed in due time, 
will not fail to acknowledge that his 
retiring from tiie world, arose from a 
full persuasion that it was his duty. 
And it appeared evident to those with 
whom in after years he would free- 
ly converse, it arose not on the 
one hand, as some weakly imagined^ 
fi om an insuperable dislike to an ac- 
tive life, nor on the other, fi'om an 
apathy inherent in his nature : For 
he had, as might be supposed from 
his accomplishments, been bred 
amidst the elegancies of life, knew 
how to enjoy, and had freely partook 
thereof. 

In good weather he was always 
seen vvalking in the path that led to 
his spring, with great alertness, which 
he kept very clean Idv sweeping it 



SI 



with a bunch of twigs kept for the 
purpose, and was rendered ver}^ hard 
by his constant walking in it. 

In this path he spent many of his 
nocturnal hours — In what way did he 
occupy his thoughts? In giving 
scope to his imagination, and bring- 
ing those gay scenes to his remem- 
brance with M^hich the men of the 
world are so captivated ? No, Impos- 
sible ! that he employed his thoughts 
in such way, unless to contrast the 
poor gratifications such scenes yield, 
with those pleasures he enjoyed in 
his retirement. For here, in a clear 
evening, when the bright expanse was 
lighted up by all its shining lumina- 
ries, if those scenes should, I had al- 
most said sacrilegiously usurp a place 
in his thoughts, he could instantljr 
dispossess th^n by an happy recur- 



52 



rence to that aid flowing from faith 
which taught him that 

** The soul of man was made to walk 
tlie skies, 

Delightful outlet of her prison here ! 

There, disincumbered from her 
chains, the ties 

Of toys, terrestrial, she can rove at 
large ; 

There freely can respire, dilate, ex- 
tend, 

In full proportion let loose all her 
povv^ers."* 

And in consequence thereof, his 
pleasures were of that rational kind, 
arising from his duly appreciating the 
vast disparity between the grovelling 
pleasures which are derived from 

* Young. ^ 



sensual enjoyments, and those which 
flow to the contemplative mmd, 
whose thoughts are not how they may 
acquire the means to ensure them 
wealth or power, but the transcen- 
clantly more rational enquiry how 
they may obtain the " One thing 
needful," a home beyond the skies. 
Therefore the charitable and un- 
prejudiced will not think it unlikely 
his language was frequently in his 
lonely walks quite in unison with 
the following beautiful words of the 
poet: 

'« Father of light! and life! Thou 

Good Supreme ! 
O teach me what is good ! teach me 

Thyself! 
Save me from Folly, Vanity and Vice, 



t^- 



u 

From every low pursuit! and feed 

my soul 
With knowledge, conscious peace, 

and virtue piire ; 
Sacred, substantial, never-fading 

bliss!''* 

You will please to pardon me for 
the length of my digressions, for in 
giving a short account of poor Fran- 
cis, I shall think if any thing should 
occur by which there may arise a 
hope that but an individual person 
may receive benefit, I shall be justi- 
fied in claiming a portion of that can-» 
dour, which I claim as the condition 
on which only I could consent to 
comply with your wishes, 

Yoursy yc, 
* T|iompson 



LETTER IV* 



BURLINGTON COUNTY, 

July, 1780. 



Dear Friend^ 



Francis would never leave his ha« 
bitation while he had any thing re- 
maining in his sack, but when his 
provisions were exhausted, he would 
take his staff and go among his near- 
^'st neighbours; at another time to 



3^ 

Mount-Holiy ; then to Burlington or 
the surrounding villages : It would 
seem by his conduct herein, as 
though he thought it was most pro- 
per to receive his supplies in rotation 
from the people all around him, 
thinking thereby to avoid being bur- 
densome : But his care in that res- 
pect, although it evinced him to be 
a man possessing great modesty and 
delicacy, certainly was misplaced, 
for I never heard of his meeting with 
any difficulty in obtaining a supply. 
Upon his arrival at a house, he 
would salute the people in a way that 
at once bespoke him to be far above 
the level of common mendicants- 
having made them a low bovi , while 
holding his hat in one hand would 
lay the other on his breast, in a most 
impressive manner, and ask them for 



S7 

some bread in aii accent v'ery remote 
from meanness, and widi a deport- 
ment diat might well be called dig- 
nified, without any mixture of pride 
or insolence. And after receiving 
what they pleased to give, though it 
should be ever so indifterent, for he 
made choice of the worst kind, think- 
ing it the most suitable for him, 
would then kiss their friendly hand, 
still preserving that admirable mix- 
ture of humility and dignity. And 
\T-ould never forget to express some 
short ejaculations as they were sup- 
posed to be, being uttered in Latin, 
and at intervals kissing his crucifix 
which always hung on his breast sus- 
pended from his neck by a ribbon. 

A few years previous to the pre- 
sent war, the United Brethren or (as 
they are commonly called) Mora- 



S3 

vialis, hearing at Bethlehem, theii 
was such a recluse person here, the), 
agreeable to that philanthrophy and 
benevolence which so highly distin- 
guish tliem as a people, thought to j 
add to his happiness by sending a de- i 
putation of three of the brethren to 
invite him to remove to Bethlehem . 
and live with them, where, he was I 
told, he might live in his own way,^ | 
and as retired as he pleased. But 
they did not succeed in their mis- 
sion : For he had fully made up his 1 
mind on that subject, and all their 
kind endeavours were ineffectual to 
persuade him to relinquish his be- 
loved retirement. And when we 
find that to be the case, the benevo- 
lent mind cannot help regretting that 
such was his inflexible determina^ 
tion ; for those who have any know^ 



ledge of the ''Brethren," will not 
doubt but great exertions would 
have been made to alleviate his dis- 
tress, and tho&o exertions directed by- 
good judgment too. And it con- 
fessedly requires much judgment to 
give advice in such cases that may 
be profitable to the subjects of it. 

Strangers, led by curiosity to see 
Francis, would upon seeing the man- 
ner in which he lived, find a most 
powerful appeal to their compassion, 
and would frequently try to get him 
to receive money, but it is believed 
they never once succeeded, he al- 
ways stoically refusing every pecunia- 
ry aid. But I am glad, notwithstand- 
ing his refusal, to have it in my pow- 
er to record such incidents, as re- 
flecting honour on them for their be- 
]ie\'olent intentions, and at the same 



4P 



time as it will contribute to the satisfac- 
tion of those who delight in contem- 
plating the brighter side of things c 
Although I have to record a fla- 
grant act of cruelty exercised on the 
person of Francis, yet the general te= 
nor of his life was quiet and unruffled, 
and he frequently had an opportuni- 
ty to see that his hard fate drew the 
tender sympathy of many, who would 
have rejoiced if they could have ad- 
ministered consolation to his distres- 
sed mind. And are we to suppose 
that all such charitable endeavours 
were altogether fruitless ? Or may . 
we not more reasonably suppose, 
that their kind attempts, when man- 
aged with tliat tenderness and delica- 
cy, which the feeling heart aided by 
the benign influences of religion can 
inspire, were sometimes successful ? 



41 



O ! yes, I had much rather believe 
this to be the case ; and that he could 
have told some of those who endea- 
voured to soothe the anguish of his 
mind, that he found the keenness of it 
to abate, and his corroding reflec- 
tions allayed. And at some peculi- 
ar seasons he could look forward and 
find the most joyful feelings to per- 
vade the whole man, in anticipating 
that time when ''All tears were to 
be wiped from all eyes," and feel 
like a new creature indeed, when all 
and every of tlie malignant passions 
were ana'hilated or more properly re- 
pressed. For we must suppose those 
prelibations of happiness were of no 
long continuance, and accordingly 
we find his distress would return and 
precipitate him into that hoji-ror, wliich 

© 2 




he thought a proper piuubhment Ibi 
him. 

Oh! that all may be induced to 
let the sufferings of Francis operate 
as a check to the motions of pride 
and anger. For if we admit the 
truth of the report which made him 
the murderer of one in a duel, we 
may reasonably expect pride, anger 
or resentment, and probably an as- 
semblage of all three, backed by foul 
envy and fell revenge were the lead- 
ing cause of his precipitation into that 
abyss of misery and pungent sorrow, 
and that protracted to the end of his 
life. 

But the motions of pride, envy, 
malice, guile and deceit, with all the 
filthy brood of carnal affections which 
are either generally or partially, re- 
ceived into the breast of eytry man 



43- 



(tliougli tlirough restraining grace 
they may but seldom drive to acts of 
murder) yet in their effects produce 
such a total aUenation to tl^at holi- 
ness, without which, none shall see 
the Lord, that it is most sorrowful 
to reflect upon. And when by the 
touches of divine grace the madness 
of a course of life always consequent 
on an unresisted reception of such 
malignant passions is fully seen, 
there will arise such pungent distress, 
that crowns and sceptres would be 
willingly parted with could they ob- 
tain perfect peace. 

Such is the defomiity of sin ! and 
such' is the consequence of a partial 
persisting therein. But the conse- 
quence of an obstinate adherence 
thereto may be gathered by I had al- 
most said reason y and certainly I may 



4.4. 



say reason when aided and enligh- 
tened by that grace (a portion of 
which has entered the heart of every 
man) which will point to the dreadful 
punishment that necessarily takes 
place on a separation of the soul from 
the body when it will fall into its own 
proper hell, described in scripture 
by the never dying worm, which is 
apprehended to mean the corroding 
thoughts and anguishing reflections 
in finding there will be an eternal se- 
paration between the soul and the 
Supreme Good. ''And the reason 
'' why the unregenerate do not feel 
*' themselves in such a state of woe 
'' and torment in this life is, because 
*' the soul, during its union with the 
"' body, qualifies or unites with the 
'' gratifications of sense, the cheer- 
" ing influences of the sun, and othpr 



45 

'' satisfactions of outward nature^ 
" which charm its misery for the 
^' present; but that upon this consti- 
" tution being dissolved, and all its 
'' communication with the animal life 
^' ceasing, then the soul so unre- 
*' deemed looses every source ofmit- 
** igation and comfort, and falls into 
" its own proper hell"^ as aforesaid. 
This may be but a gloomy sub- 
ject to some, " But it is better to re- 
" fleet on it for a few minutes, than 
*' to endure it to eternal ages, per- 
*' haps the consideration of the mis- 
" eries of the wicked may be profi- 
••' tabiy terrible, may teach us to flee 
*' to the Saviour, " Who delivers 
V from going down into the bottom- 
** less pit," may drive like the avcn^- 

* Thbmas Hartley, 



4& 



**^ gers sword, to the only city of refuge 
*' for obnoxious sinners,"! viz. the 
blood of the everlasting covenant-. 



t Hervey 



LETTEfe V- 

BURLINGTON COUNts. 

SeptembeT, 1780. 

Dear Friend^ 

Though I have said a good deal 
concerning the manner Francis re- 
ceived his supplies of food, I will 
give an account of . nother source 
whence a considerable quantity flow- 
ed, and which in good measure su- 
perseded the necessity of traversing 



4:S 



his usual rounds : And tliis was the 
visits of children, who frequently as 
a stipulation of, and reward for good 
behaviour, were permitted to go and 
see him when they were always pro- 
vided with something for him to eat. 
Their parents learning the reason of 
his retirement, found those sensations 
which were excited by the novelty of 
the circumstance, give place to those 
which may be traced to pity and com- 
passion, and would encourage their 
children to behave well that they 
might go and see Francis, whose 
visits were commonly productive of 
profit to him. Though it must be 
confessed their natural loquacity did 
so ill accord with his turn and man- 
ner, their visits were rather trouble- 
some to him. However, he would 
Tviss the hand of each of them and an^ 



49 



swer their artless interrcgatofies with 
as much patience, as could be rea- 
sonably expected from him, who 
was extremely irritable, inheriting 
from nature a choleric disposition. 
But this trait in his character, would 
never have appeared to us if this 
country could boast of what none 
ever could, viz. an exemption from 
boorish people : Some few of such 
have at times visited him, whose re- 
ligious education diifered from his, 
if indeed it could be said such crea- 
tures ever had a religious education, 
who could be so cruel as to make a 
helpless and inoffensive man, think 
the religion of his fathers and which 
he held as most sacred, w^as scanda- 
lized by the treatment he received 
from them. For with that careless- 
5s and indifference which Francis 



50 



could not bear, they would handle his 
-Grucifix, at the same time asking 
him questions, the nature of which 
tended to irritate. This indeed 
would instantly raise his choler to an 
hig'h degree and draw forth anathemas 
on their (as he thought) devoted 
heads and uttered in a most awful 
manner. And as I have spoken fa- 
vourably of Francis heretofore, I still 
wish to do so, and when I undertake, 
not to exculpate, but extenuate those 
traits in his character, which I ac- 
knowledge were as foils to his bright- 
er virtues, give me hberty to press 
on your remembrance tliat supersti- 
tion which )^ou so freely (charge to 
him, and so fondly think'yourself ex- 
empt from, and then ask yourself 
whether any evil tempters drawn from 
thcii^ lurking pkces, in consequence 



51 



of the worst treatment he could pos- 
sibly receive, would have irlerited 
excuse or palliation as well as this» 
For my part I think seriously, that a 
Roman Catholic (allowance being 
made for the prejudice of education) 
is more intided to our charity for 
their ill tempers, consequent on such 
behaviour, than a protestant is in any 
caseJ But difference of education 
out of the question, I contend that 
Francis may, in adverting to his ex- 
treme imtability, receive a share of 
our chcirity as well as others^. Mar- 
tin Luther for instance, was a *' Man 
of like passions with ourselves,'' and 
was ;v.uch under the dominion of ill 
tempers. Aud yet who goes to de- 
tract from his venerable character on 
account diereof ? I could mention 
others too, w^ho w^re great men in 



52 



their day, who laboured sorely un- 
der the like infirmity. 

The truth of the matter lays here, 
that people attatch virtues to things 
that in their nature are not so, and 
on the contrary are for denying a per- 
son the name of christian, upon some 
sudden exhibition of infirmity, when 
that probably, is the burden of his 
soul, and his daily cries are, that he 
may be delivered therefrom. 

I have seen people who have been 
remarkable for an equable, serene, un- 
ruffled temper, and called on account 
thereof religious people, who I believe 
were at the same time strangers to 
true religion. "Many mistake na- 
** ture for grace and so rest short of a 
*' true change. The tempering make 
" avast difterence in many blades, 
" all made of the same van?}, soni'- 



53 



'" of which will bend before they 
" break, others break before they 
'' bend. Good nature, without grace, 
^^ maketh a fairer shew than grace 
' with an evil nature. A cur out- 
" runs a greyhound if the latter has 
*' a clog.""^ 

If I pertinently introduce quota- 
tions I need, not fear blame, because 
my selections so far surpass any 
tiling my pen can produce, therefore 
will trouble you with the following, 
wrote by a man of very different sen- 
timents with regard to some points of 
doctrine, from the man just quoted 
from, but notwithstanding said dif- 
ference, I believe them both, to have 
been men of great piety, and singu- 
lar usefuhiess. 

* Fletcher. 

E 3 



54 



'' A double quantity of real gnicc, 
' if I may so speak, that has a dou^ 
'^ ble quantity of hinderance to con- 
" flict with, will not be easily ob3er>-- 
'' ed, unless these hinderances are 
^' likewise known and attended to, 
^' and a smaller measure of grace 
" may appear great when its exer- 
^* cise meets widi no remarkable ob- 
"' struction. For these reasons, we 
*' ean never be competent judges of 
' ' each other, because we cannot be 
'-' acquainted with the whole com]yi. x 
*' cjase. But- our Merciful UlA 
'' Priest knows tlie whole, he con- 
'' siders our frame, remembeiis that 
" we are but dust, makes gracious 
'' allowances, pities, bears, accepts^ 
" and approves with unerring; iiidg- 
'' ment."^ 

* John Ne^vton. 



Let it not be thought I have a Hght 
esteem of good nature. Indeed I 
have a just esteem of gentleness of 
disposition, and think it a great be- 
nefit to its possessor, in a merely ci- 
vil point of view, for he will glide 
through life with far less difficulty, 
escaping numberless broils, to whUjh 
the man of irritable tempers will be 
daily liable to, and the people of his 
neighbourhood, will duly appreciate 
advantages derived from an habitual 
intercourse with him. And if it is 
so highly commendable from merely 
human motives, as contributing to 
that serenity and quiet so delightful 
among neighbours, how will, or how- 
can vre do jlistice in describing it 
when it meets in the same person, 
that divine grace which vv hen not re- 
sisted, but suffered to expand and 



56 



producing, as it infallibly will, those 
excellent fruits, viz. knowledge, tem- 
perance, godliness, bx'otherly-kind- 
ness and charity. 

The man in whose breast tliese 
have taken root, is a prince among 
men, and is in forw^ardness for eter- 
iiH bliss,, where he will arrive in due 
time, if his faith fail not. When the 
merely good natured man ^viil fall 
short. 

I have been the more lengthy on 
this subject, because that pharasaic- 
leaven, so hateful in every age, is 
alive in this, and great stress is laid, 
by many on outside things, and thmk 
all is well, if they can live free from 
any thing that will injure their credit 
among men. But the christian, let 
him belong to what class or society 
he may, has different views. He 



sr 



knows indeed that it is indispensably 
necessary to live free from those 
things which may wound his credit 
as a man : And that he must attend 
to many httle things which the chris- 
tian Ufe embraces, and which, in their 
nature are subservient to the grand 
and ultimate object he has in view. 
But all this though ever so beautiful j 
and however useful in constituting 
the basis of that good character which 
however the cynic may despise, is 
confessedly not to be overlooked by 
any man of good sense. All this he 
does, but he does it because divine 
grace, now took root in his heart, has 
made a contrary course hateful to 
him, being favoured to see the ex- 
tremely opposite nature thereof, to 
perfect purity, which purity he now 
strives to imitate according to his 



58 



measure or capacity, amidst the im- 
perfections and infirmities of his na- 
ture ; which ijifirmities, his faith gives 
him good reason to hope, will be 
weakened by obedience to that grace 
now shed abroad in his heart, and 
which teaches him to do those things 
now, as being agreeable to the divine 
nature. Whereas he formerly- 
wrought them, (as the w orks of all 
hypocrites are) with sinister views^ 
and selfish designs. 

Yours, £5V. 



LETTER VL 

BURLINGTON COUNTY^, 

October, 1780. 

Dear Friend^ 

It is painful to me in the recital, as 
it will be to you in the perusal, of 
those things evincive of the brutality 
of the persons who behaved so un- 
worthy as related in my last. But 
that I may consistent with that truth 
which is the basis of these letters, in- 



60 



seit every incident connected with 
the Hfe of Francis, I shall now relate 
a cruel act committed on him. And 
I shall not merit the title of impartial, 
if I let any thing slip, through a bias 
to the people among whom he lived, 
or through my fears that the sensi- 
bilities of your nature should be ex- 
cited on the perusal. 

Francis never after his arrival here 
shaved his beard, indeed he always 
clipped with a small pair of scissors 
that part which grew near his mouth, 
but that on his cheeks and chin grew 
to a very considerable length. This, 
though to you from your neighbour- 
hood to Ephrata, whose inhabitants, 
invariably exhibit this appearance, 
from an inhibition coeval ^vith their 
becoming a separate society, is no 
novel thing, but here it was other- 



61 



wise, and was regarded by the muki- 
tilde with that ideot stare, which is 
common to tlieir rank in every coun- 
try. However this subjected him to 
no inconvenience, for he cared but 
little in what hght they regarded die 
singularity, while they kept their 
hands from it, but this I am sorry to 
say, in one instance vras not the case, 
for some rude wicked boys Hving in 
a village near Mountholly, followed 
him, threw him down and sacrilige- 
ously (if I may so term it, and joined 
with a' cruelty unworthy of a Mo 
hawk) divested his chin of the appen- 
dage, so long pendant from it. And 
this barbarous act was highly aggra ■ 
%'ated by the mode adopted in the ex- 
ecution, for instead of taking a pair 
of scissors, they made use of a clasp- 
ed knife, which doubtless caused 



62 



great pain to the poor, and by this 
time aged man, for it is but a few 
years since the perpetration of the 
deed. 

I remember hearing of this most 
st>andalous transaction at the time, 
and now, wonder the sensations ex- 
cited by it were so cold and phlegma- 
tic, and could reflect on it with great- 
er complacency if I had shewed a 
marked disapprobation of the execra- 
ble deed, and have nothing to plead, 
in excuse of the supineness, crhiiinal 
supineness of the people in neglecting 
to ascertain who were the actors in 
the nefarious business and punishing 
them for it. 

I knew a person, who, when a boy, 
in company with some others of like 
age, visited him, and like those un- 
thoughtful creatui'es mentioned in 



63 

my last, carelessly took hold of hi^ 
crucifix, when instantly Francis in his 
zeal to avenge the affront, spit in liis 
face; this in turn called forth the 
boy's ire, when lifting his foot to the 
breast of Francis, kicked him over, 
for which I liave heard this person 
express great sorrow, saying he wish- 
ed it never had happened. So easy 
is it, for us, through unwatchfulness, 
and the sudden impulse of passion, 
to commit acts that may give us long 
and great uneasiness. 

Since the death of Francis I have qf- 
ten thought it strange I did not try to do 
him more service, and think it equal- 
ly strange that those who possessed 
more ample means, did not more 
strenuously insist upon rendering his 
life more comfortable, for though I 
have acknowledged they \^'ere kind 



64 



to hini, yet I think there should hav^ 
been strong arguments, a reiteration 
of arguments, to induce him to suf- 
fer them to make him more comfort- 
able ; their neglect herein can be at- 
tributed to nothing but that " Their 
charity was more fervid than active." 
They would always give him vic- 
tuals, an old coat or blanket, or even 
money, if he could have been pre^ 
vailed upon to receive it. But to go 
and insist that if he would fiot leave 
his beloved retirement, he should 
suffer them to build a small hut for 
him, this I never heard was attempt- 
ed. But wA-ibX is very surprising, 
that notwithstanding the hardships 
he suffered in such a damp situation, 
and never having any fire to warm 
his benumbed limbs, at the same 
time, being of a small size, delicate 



65 



frame and texture of body, he should 
enjoy almost uninterrupted health, 
which was really the case, and can be 
attributed to nothing short of the su- 
perintending providence of Him m ho 
" Tempers the \vind to the shorn 
lamb." 

Indeed, if we properly consider 
his being pent up in his little subter- 
ranean lodge, a long wintcis night, 
and turning out in the morning with 
his clothes all wet, we can hardly con- 
ceive any situation more distressing, 
and terrible as we should think our 
fate to be, if endured but one week, 
in that manner. He who once mix-- 
ed with the gay and polite, and was 
blessed with the endearing* conversa- 
tion of his friends and relatives, pas- 
sed twenty-three long winters there. 
When I now think of him, as being 

F 2 



66 



toiled up, in his dreary abode, I won- 
<der much he was not oftener the sub- 
ject of our commiseration, and can 
account for the apathy to the afflic- 
tions and poverty of others because 
not immediately presented to view. 

" Ah ! httle think the gay, Hcentious, 

proud, 
" Whom pleasure, power, and 

affluence surround ; 
*' They who their thoughtless hours 

in giddy mirth, 
' ' And \i^anton, often cruel riot w^aste; 
"• Ah! little think they, while they 

dance along, 
*' How many feel, this very moment 

death, 
^' And all the sad variety of pain ; 
*' How many sink in the devouring 

Rood. 



67 

""' Or more devouring flame? how 
many bleed 

" By shameful variance betwixt man 
and man ! 

'' How many pine in want andduiW 
geon glooms, 

*' .Shut from the comman air, and 
common use 

'" Of their own limbs ! how may drink 
the cup 

'' Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter 
bread 

'' Of misery ! Sore pierced by win- 
try winds. 

'* How many sink into the sordid hut 

'' Of cheerless poverty ! How many 
shake 

'' With all the fiercer tortures of the 
mind. 

" How many rack'd with hoo^^st pas- 
sions^ droopj 



6S 

^^ In deep retired distress ! How ma- 
ny stand 
^' Around the death-bed of their 

dearest friends, 
^* And point the parting anguish ! 

Think fond man 
^' Of these, and all the nameless ills 
^' That one incessant struggle rendei' 

life 
" One scene of toil, of suffering, and 

of fate ; 
^^ Vice in its high career would stand 

appall'd, 
" And heedless rambling impulse 

learn to think ; 
^^ The conscious heart of charity 

would warm, 
^* And her wide wish, benevolence 

dilate ; 
*^ The social tear would rise, the so,- 
cial sigh ; 



69 

'* And into clear perfection gradual 

bliss 
'' Refining still, the social passions 

work."-^ 

YourSs ^c. 



Thompson, 



LETTER VlL 



SXJBXINGTON COUNTY, 

October, 1780. 



Dear Friend^ 

Francis was not fitted by nature to 
undergo labour, and if he had been 
endowed with strength, (if we consid- 
er the state of his afflicted mind) to 
have withheld provisions from him 
under the notion that by so doing, he 



71 



would be compelled to take to some 
kind of labour, would have been in- 
consistent with die ideas of humani- 
ty and benevolence, which in this en-- 
lightened age seem to be generally 
entertained, and have savored more 
of that cold prudential disposition (to 
speak as lightly as possible of it) 
which actuates too many it is to be 
feared, in their refusal to contribute 
to the necessities of others, and who 
are like the horse leach at the vein^ 
crying give, give, and are never sa« 
tisfied unless they are accumulating 
the dross of this world, notwithstand- 
ing they have been told an hundred 
times, of the impossibility of obtain- 
ing happiness in such a way, yet tliey 
are striving, unremittingly striving 
night and day, and eating the bread 
of carefulness, that their own expe- 



72 



rience (as it would seem) should con- 
tradict the sayings of the wise of all 
ages, and also the scriptures them- 
selves, which abundantly inculcate 
the belief, nay, roundly assert as a 
fact, that riches are not the chief 
good, upon possession whereof every 
thing else should be added. 

I suppose, all tliat could be alleged 
1ft favour of denying him food, would 
be, that it was encouraging him in 
idleness, and that he ought not to eat 
if he did not work, agreeable to 
PauPs inhibition, I grant that if Fran- 
cis had been able to work, and had 
been exempt from distress of mind, 
it might have been right to withhold 
food from him. And I grant it is 
the duty, the indispensible duty of 
people universally to be employed in 
some way for the good of society. 



And probably Francis thought, the 
mode of living he had adopted might 
operate in that way. And who can 
tell but it did? we are poor short- 
sighted creatures, and our capacities 
are very limited, and my knowledge 
thereof, forbids my saying there has 
no good devolved upon the commu- 
3iity, at least some individual thereof, 
it may be, we know not who, yet 
such may be the fact. 

As to people being of use, if all 
were denied the ngcessaries of life, 
that could not make it appear they 
had been of more use to society than 
Francis, I am afraid many would 
have but short commons. For the 
same complaint or observation applies 
in our days, as did at Rome in the 
davs of Horace^ who above sixteen 



74 

hundred years ago, complained iu 
the following lines, as translated into 
English by Dr. Watts, That 

'' There are a number of us creep 
" Into the world to eat and and sleep, 
'' And know no reason why they're 

born, 
" But merely to consume the coni, 
*' Devour the cattle, fowl and fish, 
*' And leave ^ehind an empty dish, 
'' The crows and ravens do the same, 
" Unlucky bird|i of hateful name; 
'' Ravens or crows might fill their 

place, 
^' And swallow corn and carcasses. 
'' Then if their tomb- stone when they 

die, 
" Ben't taught to flatter or to lie, 
*^ There's nothing better will be said, 



75 

Than that they've eat up all their 

bread, 
Drank up their drink, and gone 

to ded." 

Thus I have related the general 
v^nor of the life of Francis, in which 
there was a large portion of mortifi- 
cation and self denial. And without 
entering into a disquisition, on the 
merits of a total abstraction from the 
world, and all its fascinating plea- 
sures, in order to avert the wrath of 
the Deity, or on the criminality of an 
individual, who by such abstraction, 
contributes not towards that mass of 
happiness, which divine goodness, 
doubtless is well pleased to see his 
creatures enjoy, and who collectively 
have a right to the individual exer- 
tions of every man to further the 



76 



iiame : I will not hesitate to express a 
belief that Francis enjoyed a greater 
portion of real happiness, than is with- 
in the lot of many, who carry them- 
selves aloft, amidst a gaping throng, 
and ai'e highly gratified if they can 
raise the envy of the multitude, by 
their daily exhibitions of splendor, 
and show things which Francis had 
learned heartily to despise, from a 
conviction that they could not sup- 
ply that true inward peace and quiet 
conscience, which lie ardently sought, 
and which are the best criterions, to 
judge of the death ofthatbodyofsin, 
with whicli every man either is, or 
hath been fettered, and Vvhich can- 
not be obtained but by, and through 
true faith, in that '' Fountain which 
was opened at Jerusalem for sin and 
uucleanness." And a subsequent 



517 



and faithful adherence to that portion 
of grace, which hath in mercy been 
given to every man, and of course 
every woman for they are all one in 
Christ, to guide them in the v/ay 
they should walk ; and would by a 
steady obedience to its dictates have 
preserved us from that vortex of sin 
and misery, which by actual compli- 
ance to that stimulus which devolv- 
ed on us by fatal inheritance from 
our first parents, hath involved us in, 
and from the deadning and benumb- 
ing effects thereof, there is no way 
under heaven, appointed for our es- 
cape, but through the laver of rege- 
neration and a new birth unto righ- 
teousness, which is not experienced 
but by frequent ablutions in that 
" Fountain" above mentioned, which 
is a most beautiful metaphor, and is 

G 2 



Elusive of tliat all powerful cleansing, 
which true faith in the Redeemer 
brings to light in the soul. 

And though Francis might be 
wading in the gloom of error, yet as 
he was conscious of the turpitude of 
his crimes, and sought by every 
means in his power to avert the pun- 
ishment he thought they justly me- 
rited, by an inflexible determination to 
deny himself a participation of the 
comforts of this life, believing there- 
by to expiate the sins he groaned un- 
der. We may, I think, without any- 
great display of that charity ^vhich 
surpasseth all the other virtues, have 
a hope that Francis is at rest, being 
forgiven for the sake of Him ;\\'hose 
sufferings was his daily contempla- 
tion ; which I had rather call the true 
intent and meaning of the regard he 



79 



paid to the little representation which 
hung on his breast, and which seems 
to imply from the name monitiary , 
therefore I would much rather think 
the intent was to call the substance 
to his recollection, than to attach the 
liarsh name of idolatry to the respect 
he paid it. 

I hope I shall not subject myself 
to rebuke, for the above remarks, 
I think that the introduction of moni^ 
tiary crucifixes into places devoted to 
religious uses, and having them at- 
tached to the persons of any, is radi- 
cally wrong, and cannot be defended 
on scriptvu'al grounds. Yet all this 
will not preclude me the liberty of be- 
lieving that many, very many of the 
Roman Cadiolics, though they are in 
possession of each his, or her cruci- 
fix, are nevertheless persons of true 



80 



piety, as much so, as many who see 
the absurdity of all such supposed 
helps. 

It remains for me to relate, that 
Francis never after his arrival here, 
shewed any desire to be informed how, 
in what way, or where the war of ^56 
was carried on, evincing strongly by 
his conduct herein, that such things 
were foreign from his thoughts. And 
the same incurious turn of mind has 
been observed in the present war, 
save, that at near the commencement 
of it, observing an unusual stir among 
the people, (troops marching and 
countermarching,) he went to his 
hospitable landlord, who was his near- 
est neighbour, and enquired who were 
the principals engaged in it, and the 
cause thereof, and it was observed 
that he seldom or never spoke of it 



81 



afterwards, not even in the memora- 
ble winter of '76 and '77, when the 
British troops overrun Jersey, for 
then a partial action took place be- 
tween a detachment from the Ameri- 
can army, and two regiments com- 
manded by the Baron Donop, the 
scene of action was near the dwelling 
of Francis, but he never left his ha- 
bitation until all was still, which was 
the case in a few days, when he crept 
out, being forced thereto by hunger, 
but never enquired any thing con- 
cerning the fray. No, Francis was 
happily delivered from all anxiety 
concerning how it might terminate, 
thinking it best for him to let the 
potsherds of the eai'th smite each 
other. 

And had much rather sing in his 



82 

solitary walks, through the w^ood, to 
the following tenor : 

"When e'er I take my walks abroad," 
O'er wood or field or grove, 

I contemplate thy works O Lord, 
And find that thou art love. 

Whether I sing, or pray or praise, 
My heart is fix'd on thee, 

And when thou viewest this lower 
world, 
O Lord remember me. 

Than to occupy his precious tim^ 
in conversing on subjects which we 
may reasonably suppose from his si- 
lence thereon, he could not think of 
but with abhorrence. 

And indeed when I think of the 
fate of the Baron Donop, above 



H^S 



mentioned, Avho with six hundred 
Hessian grenadiers fell at Red-Bank^ 
about three years ago, I cannot re- 
frain from telling you that I have fell 
out with the ^vhole trade of ^var ; for 
I saw the Baron (and the regiment, a 
great part of which fell with him,) at 
Mount-Holly in December '76, he 
appeared to me to possess much urban- 
ity and good nature, being less haugh- 
ty in his manners than any officer of 
rank I ever saw, and when we reflect 
that he and his brave followers came 
to this country at the will of their 
sovereign, to fight against those they 
had had no quarrel with, it appears 
most soiTowful indeed. But it is said 
that Bai'on Donop was a brave man, 
and died gloriously ; sounding things 
these ^ and doubtless, many to emulate 
his braverv, will advance to the can- 



a4 



non's mouth and be blown to 
atoms. 

If my dear Melcliior, you will look 
into history and see the devastation 
there has been made, and the rivers 
of blood there has been spilt on the 
plains of Germany, ill fated country ! 
you will excuse me if I paint the mi- 
sery war entails, eternally entails on 
thousands, for though charity con- 
strains us to allow there may have 
been many virtuous men in the field 
of battle : yet it is to be feared the 
far greater part are of a contrary 
character. 

But dear friend, my paper will al- 
low no more, therefore will bid you 
adieu. 



Yottrs^ ^c. 



LETTER VIVL 



BURLINGTON COUNTY 

Noyember, 1780. 



Dear Friendy 



I undertook in my last to paint 
some of the horrors attendant on that 
greatest of scom'ges, war ! 

" From whence come wars and 
lightings"? They may ahvays be 
traced either immediately fi'om Satan, 
bv his transfusina: his osvn nature into 



86 



the sons of men, fell malice, envy, 
rage and revenge. Or more remote- 
ly to numerous causes, which the de- 
generate sons of Adam by the aid of 
that sophistry which Satan is always 
ready to supply, soften into names 
alluring, but rvhich however, claim 
him for their father. And there is 
no sight on the earth so congenial to 
him, as two embattled hosts in all the 
pomp of martial array, advancing to 
bury their bayonets in the bowels of 
each other, they regard at some little 
distance their enemies, a dreadful 
pause takes place, and while they are 
every moment expecting the word to 
be given, their blood rolls with impe- 
tuous tide through their distended 
veins, their breasts heaving, and their 
eyes darting fire like the Hyena's, and 
now the w^ord, probably some bias- 



«7 

phcmous expression, such as "God 
and our king," is sounded through 
the embattled host, accompanied by 
the shrill clarions martial sound,when, 
but stop my pen, pourtray not the 
deeds excited first by Satan, and carri- 
ed into execution by mistaken mortals 
animated by the furies, for imagina- 
tion will do enough, without thy aid, 
in painting the horrors of the day. 

And if your stout hearts would 
have been appaled by the savage 
acts of the infuriated multitude, how 
will the tender sympathies of your 
nature be moved in beholding the 
group of mourners whose prospects 
of earthly happiness are forever fled ? 

First comes the tender father sup- 
porting the tottering steps of the wife 
of his youth. Then ye aged cou- 
ple ! ye have heard that he who wits 



88 



the only support, all that stood be- 
tween you and the cold chill of po- 
verty is no more ! now alas ! bereft of 
your only prop, your grey hairs must 
descend with sorrow to the grave ! 

And now thou once loved and lov- 
ing wife, but now pale widow, how 
can I paint the sorrows of thy breast 2 
Thy husband, thy much loved hus- 
band, torn from thy arms and drag- 
ed from ail he hglds most dear, his 
beloved wife and lisping prattlers, 
draged to the murderous scene, which 
heretofore only to hear of, his ten- 
der soui would always revolt from, 
with horror, poor unfortunate wo- 
man, alas ! thy foreboding fears :;r: 
sadly realized, for thy James is a 
clay cold corpse, his temple is pierc- 
ed by the fatal ball. 

And thou, thou lovely looking 



s? 



virgin, dost thou also belong to the 
mournful throng ? Ah ! I need not 
ask, for upon thy nearer approach, I 
see thy grief depicted in every fea- 
ture. Dear girl, thou vvert always 
cheerful and e'av until that ill fated 
evening, when thy William was forced 
from thee, alas! thy case is singu- 
larly afflictive, for thee and thy Wil- 
liam had plighted your vows, and 
one week more would have seen the 
blushing maid give her hand to the 
manly youth who w^as his parents joy, 
and the pride of the village throng ; 
but now, thou and thy William art 
forever separated, for he is number- 
ed with those who swell the conquer- 
or's brov/, who has already sent, ex- 
ultingly sent a list of the slain to his 
sovereign, who has given orders that 
the churches shall resound with Te 



90 



Deiims, giving thanks for the death 
of thy Wilham and his hapless com- 
panions. 

But will indeed He who by the 
mouth of one of his servants hath said 
' ^ God is not' ' with impunity * ' mock- 
ed," will he be delighted with tlieir 
rejoicing? No! the God of Heaven 
turns his eyes from their vile pa- 
geantry. He regards their reli- 
gious mockery with anger, and it h 
of his tender mercy they are not all 
consumed. 



'•Ah! Vvdil kings forget that thev 
are men, 

''And men that they are brethren,..,. 
Why delight 

-' In human sacrifice ^ v/nv ^~nr:^': • Ci- 
ties 



91 



''Of nature? that should knit their 
souls together 

" In one soft band of amity and love. 

" Father of men was it for this, 

''Thy breath divine, kindled within 
his breast 

'' The vital flame? for this, was thy 
fair image 

" Stampt on his soul with God-like 
lineaments ? 

'• For this dominion given him abso- 
lute 

*' O'er all thy works, only that lie 
might reign 

'* Supreme in woe."*" 

You will excuse me for dwelling 
so long on the subject of war, but 
if, by any thing I could say, the mad 

* Porteous, Bishop of London. 



<^% 



career of but one solitary individu- 
al might be arrested, and persuaded 
to forego his desires, to make one in 
the number of those who rejoice at 
the shrill clarion and *' drums dis- 
cordant sound ,' ' I should not grudge 
my pains. 

But however, whether they will 
hear or forbear, the purposes of di- 
vine goodness will be established, 
the Messiah's "unsuffering kingdom 
yet shall come;" and happy will 
those be, who shall not be found 
counteracting those principles, which 
as harbingers, proclaim the certain 
approach of the glorious day. 

But to return to Francis. Al- 
though during the time he lived here, 
his life was one continued scene of 
suffering, yet they were highly ag- 
gravated during the last winter, which 



93 



as you very well remember, was iiu- 
commonly severe, the great depth of 
the snow rendered it almost impossi- 
ble for him to get out among the 
neighbours, and they kindly and very 
humanely carried provisions frequent- 
ly to him. His kind and hospitable 
landlord, Joseph Burr, took the lead 
in this business, and it may very well 
be expected that he who had always 
been accustomed to order his people 
to load Francis with provisions when- 
ever he would go to the house, w^ould 
not neglect him then, when the snow 
was nearly the depth of three feet on 
the level, neither did he, but would 
go with his sleigh and carry him com- 
fortable victuals. Suffer me before I 
go further, to obviate an objection 
that will be made to the consistency of 
my account, for it may be supposed, 



94 



his being accommodated with com» 
fortable food, lessened rather than 
aggravated his sufferings, which is 
granted, but his sufferings, arose 
from his being pent up, to use a 
course simile, like a Ground-hog, 
during almost all the winter, which 
we may reasonably suppose, contri- 
buted to shorten his days; but he 
was consistent throughout all his con- 
duct, being of a piece, for as he 
tlirough life had refused every offer 
to render his life more tolerable, so 
now as his age and sufferings increas- 
ed, he would not accept of the kind 
invitations of his landlord, when he 
pressed him to let him take him in 
his sleigh to his house, where he 
might have every accommodation his 
age and weakness required, which 



95 



certainly reflects credit on the cha- 
racter of Joseph Burr.* 

But the period to all the troubles 
of Francis was nearly arrived, for up- 
on his landlord visiting him one 
morning, Francis told him he was 
sick, which drew forth another invi- 
tation to his house, he thanked him 
(as he always did those who wished 
to do him a service,) but again for 
the last time refused, for the next 
morning, the same *rson, upon his 
arrival at the dwelling of Francis, af- 
ter hailing him aloud, and receiving 
no answer to his repeated calls, knew 
that he must be dead ; he then went 
to Mount-^olly and informed the 
overseers of the poor, who ordered 

* The finends of humanity will be highly gra- 
tified in being told, that Joseph Burr during 
the life of Francis, would not suffer the wdod 
wheTo he resided to be cleared. 



96 



a decent coffin to be made and taken 
to the wood, where the people assem- 
bled and took out of the cave the bo- 
dy, and also every thing that could 
be found therein, which were no- 
thing more than old blankets, a small 
pair of scissors, with which he clip- 
ped his beard, and a blank book, in 
which he had drew or delineated 
sundry religious pieces, with a black- 
lead pencil, found in the book. His 
body was takal to the friends old 
buriel-ground, near Mount-Holly, 
and there decently interred : he being 
about sixty-six years of age; and 
had spent nearly twenty-tliree of them 
in his solitude. * ^ 

Thus dear Melchifir, I have giv- 
en as full an accouit of this poor 
recluse person, as I have been able 
to obtain, and which Jl trust will not 



97 



be altogether uninteresting to you, 
notwithstanding, the A^^ant of just ar- 
rangement, and the desultory manner 
in which it is written. 



The hermits body now is laid^ 
To moulder in the grave, 

That great and solemn debt is paid, 
Which death of all will have. 

II. 
But the grim tyrant could not sting, 

Our Hermit's, mental part. 
As death approached the more he'd 
sing, 
^' Come fling thy pointed dart." 

III. 
'* The grave nor thee, nor both of* 
you, 
^^ I do not fear, not I, 

I 



98 



" Thy dart is blunted, and the grave 
" Will have no victory.'* 

IV. 

" And this I sing through faith that 
makes 

" Rough things seem sweet to me, 
" For all my sins, my Jesus takes, 

'' He hath my soul set free. 

V. 

** My sins and stains of scarlet dye, 
" Doth snow resemble well, 

*^ My crimesalthough of crimson hue, 
" Are now all made like wool. 

VI. 

^' And all the hardships I have seen, 
" I now think of with pleasure, 

^' They've been a mean whereby to 
wean, 
^* My heart from eardily treasure." 



99 



VII. 

And now you young men, come and 
tell 

If Francis was not wise, 
In striving hard his sins to quell, 

That he might gain the prize. 

VIII. 

That prize I mean, which all will 
gain, 
Who seek it through the blood 
Of the High-priest, who once was 
slain, 
To bring us home to God. 



LftfC? 



LETTER IX. 



BURLINGTON COUNTY, 

December, 25th, 17S0, 

Dear Friend, 

Having concluded Francis, I had 
no expectation of writing at this 
time— But as it is Christmas, the 
time so many, up and down, are re. 
veiling and rioting, and spending 
their precious time, in such way that 
we may reasonably suppose will 
prove their utter ruin. I thought I 
would try to divert my mind by giv- 
ing you a line. How very different 
IS the Anniversary of the Birth of 
our Saviour ushered in, in our times, 
trom what it was, when the cry of 
Crlory to God in the highest, peace on 



101 



earth an^ good will to men," was 
sounded by those who hailed the aus- 
picious day. — O my dear Melchoir 
let us remember that, 

" On this distinguished day of grace, 
" The eternal prince of glory came, 
*' To purge the guilt of human race, 
" And save them by his powerful 

name. 
" When we in bondage were exiPd, 
" And rebels to the eternal God, 
*' Our souls with blackest guilt de- 

fiPd, 
* * Obnoxious to the impending rod, 
*' That from his seat of perfect bliss, 
'* The son of glory should descend, 
" To ofter man the terms of peace, 
" And his unbounded grace extend, 
" Such goodness, such stupendous 

9 r^ce 
■' Norman, nor angels can explore, 

I 2 



102 



'' Then let us, what we cannot trace, 
'* With awful reverence adore." 

And never may we prophane the day, 
like the giddy multitude, who fre- 
quently have ridiculed the veneration 
with which poor Francis regarded it, 
and have becH heard to say he was a 
fool.— But if he was a fool, what 
shall be said of the drunkard and 
glutton, the deist and infidel, the 
prodigal and avaricious, all of whom 
are standing on a dreadful precipice, 
notwithstandingthey, (many of them,) 
by their possessing abundance of 
this world's goods may draw the envy 
of the foolish;— The drunkard and 
prophane, the irreligious and infidel, 
the prodigal and avaricious, will fall, 
all of them fall, into one irremeable 
misery unless they are favoured with 
the grace of repentance. And which 



lo: 



misery, they have an awful anticipa 
tion of, near the solemn close. 

" In that dread moment how the 
frantic soul 

" Raves round the walls of her clay 
tenement, 

" Runs to each avenue, and shrieks 
for help, 

" But shrieks in vain 1 how wishful- 
ly she looks 

*' On all she's leaving, now no long- 
er her's ! 

<* A little longer, yet a little longer, 

" O! might she stay to wash away 
her crimes, 

*' And fit her for her passage! mourn^ 
ful sight ! 

'' Her very eyes weep blood, and 
every groan 

'' She heaves, is big with horror : but 
the foe, 



104 

^< Like a staunch murderer, steady 
to his purpose, 

" Pursues her close through every 
lane of life 

" Nor misses once the track, but 
presses on ; 

^' Till, forc'd at last to the tremen- 
dous verge 

** At once she sinks."* 

O ! that we all may, by timely re- 
pentaDCc, and fleeing to him '* who 
is a stroLg hold in the d.iy of trou- 
ble,'' experience a difttrent ei:d, and 
be eiKoled, through divine grace to 
coniba^ rhe ragiijgs Oi Satan, and 
de-pise thv^ misshapen lorm of Death, 
and iiehoid 

" Sweet fields beyond the sweliine 
^ flood ^ 

" Stand drestin living green ; 

* Blair. 



105 

*' So to the Jews old Canaan stobd, 
*' While Jordan roll'd between, "f 

AncJ preparatory to such a beatic 
vision, let the drunkard, and glut- 
ton, think of the vast difference, be- 
tween such a course their lives daily- 
exhibit, and that purity we are com- 
manded to attain. — And let the de« 
ist stop short in the midst of his ca- 
reer, and remember with all his 
boasted powers of reason, that as 
great men as any his whole tribe can 
produce, were Christians. The late 
Governor Livingston WTOte a litde 
piece, a part of which I will tran- 
scribe for your amusement. 

'' Courteous Reader. 

— — " Did you ever 

*^ see a man who had the assurance to 

t Watts.- 



106 

'^ tell you, that our belief in the divine 
" origin of the scriptures is wholly to 
'* be ascribed to the force of educa- 
*^ tion, and the early infusions of the 
'* nurse and the priest ; but that all 
*' men of unfettered, uninfluenced 
* • sentiments, all philosophers and rea- 
*' soners, have ever esteemed revela- 
** tion as imposture ; and this man at 
" the same time confessing that Sir 
*' Isaac Newton, and Mr. Locke, 
*' and lord Bacon, and Sir, Robert 
" Boyle, and Grotius, and Boerhave, 
** and Littleton, and West, and Pas- 
*' cal, and Penn, and Barcla-% and 
" Phipps, were all Christians, after 
" the most impartial scrutiny and the 
^* most assiduous investigation of the 
" evidences by which revelation is 

*' supported." " Have you 

'^ ever seen such a man sir? Why, 
'^ then you have seen a blockhead*" 



lor 

As to the prodigal and avaricious, 
they as well as the rest, will be in- 
volved in ruin, except they > repent, 
but the prodigal has this advantage 
over the avaricious, for he will soon 
want the means to pursue his wild 
schemes of profusion, and there has 
been many instances of their turning 
their faces towards their fathers house, 
after being reduced to their husks, 
and many, after a grievous repen- 
tance have been favoured to reach 
there. But alas ! for the avaiicious 
man, he is so hedged about with er- 
ror, it will be next to a miracle if he 
escapes ruin. — For as the prodigal 
by his waste is reduced to a state 
whereby he detects the folly of pros- 
tituting liberality to subserve his base 
profusion, is now brought to see that 
in the out- set he was ^\Tong in sepa- 
rating liberality from economy, from 



iOS 



which he is now sensible his outward 
ruin is to be traced, but which how- 
ever, is a mean whereby he escapes 
everlasting ruin. 

While on the other hand, the poor 
Muck-worm, in his exertions to sub^ 
serve, as he persuades himself, the 
bright virtues of prudence and econo- 
my, (but which are sadly perverted 
by him,) finding an increase to his 
stores, at the same time finds an in- 
crease to his desires, and what was in- 
tended as a blessing, is rendered a 
curse to him, and his perverted view 
of some of the virtues, gives him a 
total disrelish to the social ones, when 
at last his heart becomes callous to 
the common feelings of humanity. 



FINIS. 






CONGRESS 




